Chapter 22

Laura

“WE AREtaking a chopper to Canandaigua Lake for the weekend,” Victor informs me, his eyes glued to his phone.

I open my mouth and close it again.

Once again, I’m being dragged to a different place, expected to just go along with it like it’s no big deal.

Well, guess what? It is a big fucking deal.

I want to scream at them, to demand they give me a break. To beg them to just let me have my old life back.

But what was in that old life, anyway? More lies. More pain. More betrayal.

I glance over at Victor, who’s been on the phone for the past thirty minutes. I haven’t got a clue what he’s saying since he’s speaking in rapid-fire Russian. But I have a sneaking suspicion it’s about the ledger because he turns to me and asks, “Where exactly did you hide it?”

“Under a loose floorboard in my apartment,” I reply, feeling like a kid being interrogated by the principal.

He gives me a curt nod, like I’m a soldier who’s just completed a mission. But I’m not his soldier. I’m not his anything.

Every move I make seems to trap me deeper in this mess.

I grip the hem of my dress, my knuckles turning white as I stare out the window. The East River stretches out before us, the midday sun glinting off its murky surface.

What’s his plan? Drive around until he finds a nice spot to dump my body?

Suddenly, a private helipad comes into view, surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The place has an ominous air about it, like something out of a spy movie.

Armed guards peer into the car as Misha rolls down his window. “Mr. Morozov,” they greet Victor, their tones respectful but wary.

Misha drives through the gate, pulling up right next to a sleek black helicopter—the kind I’ve only ever seen in action flicks—with “Morozov Enterprises” emblazoned on the side.

Victor ends his call and steps out of the car, coming around to open my door. He extends a hand to me, his expression unreadable.

“Come on, kiska. The chopper’s waiting.”

I hesitate for a moment, a thousand doubts swirling in my mind. Is this really happening? Am I seriously about to get into a helicopter with my kidnapper-turned-husband?

But what choice do I have?

I take his hand, letting him help me out of the car. The wind from the helicopter’s blades whips my hair around my face as we approach.

Victor helps me climb inside, his hand firm on the small of my back. Misha hops into the pilot’s seat, slipping on a headset.

Of course Misha flies, too. What doesn’t this guy do? Knit sweaters in his spare time?

As I buckle myself in, I realize I have no idea if I’m afraid of heights or not. I’ve never had the opportunity to find out.

Guess I’m about to get a crash course.

Don’t say “crash,” dammit!

The helicopter lifts off the ground with a lurch, and I grip the edge of my seat, my heart pounding. The city falls away beneath us, skyscrapers turning into toy blocks as we rise higher and higher.

Victor reaches over, placing his hand over my white-knuckled one. “Relax, we’re using the fastest way to the winery.”

Winery, huh?

Well, at least now I know he’s not taking me out to kill me and dump my body in the river.

“But why are we going to the winery?” I shout over the deafening roar of the helicopter blades.

He doesn’t reply; just flashes me that ridiculous panty-dropping smirk of his. With his aviators on and the wind tousling his dark hair, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ.

Meanwhile, I’m struggling to keep my own hair from slicing into my eyeballs and getting sucked into my mouth every time I try to speak.

Figures.

As we soar over the city, I can’t help but be in awe of the view. The towering skyscrapers glitter in the sunlight, the cars and people below reduced to tiny, scurrying dots. It’s breathtaking and surreal, like I’ve stepped into a different world.

Which I guess I kind of have. My life has taken a sharp turn into Wonderland territory, complete with a dangerous, enigmatic “husband” and more secrets than I can keep track of.

It’s twisted and terrifying… but also strangely exhilarating. For the first time in years, I feel alive. Like I’m a part of something bigger than myself, even if I don’t fully understand what that something is yet.

“It’s about an hour and forty-five minutes to the winery,” Victor informs me, his voice crackling through the headset. “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Easier said than done.

A sudden gust of wind rocks the chopper, and I let out an embarrassing yelp, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold on to.

That something turns out to be Victor’s arm.

He looks down at my clutching fingers, then back up at my face. Without a word, he shifts closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his solid chest.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Misha’s flown in worse conditions than this. A little wind isn’t going to bring us down.”

I chance a glance at Misha, who gives me a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to the controls.

Slowly, I let myself relax into Victor’s embrace. His body is warm and hard, his musky scent enveloping me like a second seatbelt.

I tell myself it’s just the adrenaline making my heart race. That it’s the view stealing my breath, not the feeling of Victor’s fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm.

But deep down, I know better.

There’s a part of me, small but growing, that feels safe with him. Protected.

It’s a dangerous feeling. One I can’t afford to indulge.

But as the city gives way to lush green countryside and Victor holds me close and whispers for me to trust him…

…I find myself wanting to.

When the helicopter soars over the lush landscape, I can’t help but let out a silent gasp, mesmerized by the patchwork of green fields and winding rivers below. The higher we climb, the more surreal it feels, like I’m looking down at a living, breathing map.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, more to myself than to Victor, but he nods in agreement, his eyes reflecting a hint of pride.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he says, a smile playing on his lips as he adjusts the headset.

He pulls me closer, wrapping his comforting arm around my shoulders, his body a solid anchor in this dizzying new reality. Despite the roar of the blades, I feel myself starting to drift, lulled by the steady thrum of the engine and the warmth of Victor’s embrace.

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I’m jolted awake by a sudden movement. Blinking groggily, I realize with horror that there’s a damp patch on Victor’s shoulder.

Oh God. Did I just drool on him?

Victor looks down at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Good nap?” He reaches out, wiping a stray bit of saliva from my chin with his thumb.

I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment, but before I can stammer out an apology, Victor chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, kiska. I’ve had worse things on this suit.”

From the pilot’s seat, Misha lets out a snort. “That’s for damn sure.”

Victor shoots him a look, but there’s no heat behind it. If anything, he looks… amused?

Shaking his head, he turns his attention to the view outside the window. “There it is,” he says, pointing to a sprawling estate below. “Golden Harvest. My mother’s pride and joy.”

I follow his gaze, my breath catching in my throat. Rows upon rows of grapevines stretch out like green corduroy, broken up by swaths of brilliant wildflowers. At the center of it all sits a grand stone chateau, its pale walls gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“It’s incredible,” I breathe out, and I mean it.

Victor’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, just for a moment. “Yeah. It is.”

As we descend toward the vineyard, I spot a small group of people waiting by the landing pad. A distinguished-looking man in his sixties, flanked by two women in crisp white uniforms.

Misha sets the chopper down with practiced ease, the skids barely making a sound as they kiss the ground. Victor hops out first, then turns and extends a hand to help me down.

I cling to him perhaps a bit longer than I should, my legs unsteady after the long flight. If Victor notices, he doesn’t comment.

The older man steps forward, a warm smile crinkling his weathered face. “Privet, Vitya,” he says, clasping Victor’s hand. “Welcome home.”

“Privet, Sergei,” Victor replies, then gestures to me. “This is my wife, Laura.”

Sergei turns to me, his smile widening. “Ah, the beautiful nevesta! We’ve heard so much about you.” He takes my hand, pressing a gallant kiss to my knuckles.

I glance at Victor, wondering exactly what he’s been saying about me. But his expression gives nothing away.

As Sergei leads us toward the chateau, chattering away in Russian, I let my gaze wander over the sprawling grounds. Lush rose bushes line the path, their heady scent mingling with the crisp tang of the vines. In the distance, I spot a grove of fruit trees—apple, pear, cherry, their branches heavy with ripe fruit.

It’s like something out of a fairytale. A hidden paradise tucked away from the rest of the world.

But then, as we round the corner of the chateau, I see something that makes my heart stop.

There, standing in the shade of a towering oak is a painfully familiar figure. A petite woman, with vibrant short purple hair, cradling a laughing toddler in her arms. Beside her, a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“That… that can’t be…” I look up at Victor, my eyes wide with disbelief. “What…?”

The woman turns as if sensing my gaze. For a moment, she seems to freeze, her expression a mirror of my own shock and disbelief. Then, with a choked sob, she starts toward us, the toddler clutched tightly to her chest.

“Lu Lu?”

“Ser!!” I breathe, hardly daring to believe it. “Is that really you?”